The Adventures of Vince Two
by Vyvyan Quill
Summary: Vince gets a clone for his birthday! Howard is having trouble coming to terms with it, though…


Howard Moon was concentrating very hard on reading the latest issue of _Trumpeteer. _But the sounds of Chelsea boots clacking back and forth and muffled giggles from upstairs were maddeningly distracting. But he was a patient man. A mature adult, with an iron constitution. In theory, he should be able to ignore and overcome such a pithy annoyance. But theory was rarely ever the same as reality. And Howard's theory was wearing thin, fast.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Howard finally exploded.

There was a series of loud crashes and crunches overhead, then a series of thumps before Vince's pointy little face appeared out over the staircase banister.

"What?" he asked.

"I said, what the hell are you two doing?"

Vince's mouth split into an enormous grin. "We're preparing for a tea party!"

There was another sequence of loud, clumsy noises across the upstairs bedroom, and then another Vince popped out.

When Naboo announced his birthday present to Vince, Howard had descended into stubborn sulking. "The last thing the world needs is a second helping of Vince Noir," he'd grumbled, "What were you thinking, Naboo?"

"I was thinkin', what's Vince's favorite thing? So... yeah. I'm givin' him a clone."

And though Howard had huffed and puffed over it, they'd still gathered around as Naboo lisped out the spell: "Timbuktu, there's two of you." Then, in a swirl of golden sparkles and fog, a familiar skinny, poofish figure emerged.

Vince rushed forward even before the fog had cleared, wrapping the other Vince in an enormous hug.

Though Naboo's spell would only last a week, Howard had insisted there be some discernible difference between Vince and the clone. Otherwise, it would be too weird, and more than a little confusing. After a lot of back and forth, mostly consisting of Vince shooting down Howard's perfectly reasonable suggestions on the grounds of, "that's essential to our look!," it was finally decided that the clone would bleach his hair.

At first, the clone had put up a big fuss, whining and moaning about being treated like a second-class citizen just because it was created out of thin air by a miniature shaman, but eventually Vince won him over by reminding him that this way, they can test the color without risking too much.

"We've always wanted to to try blonde," Vince had claimed as he massaged the dye into the clone's roots, "This way, if it's shit, it'll only last a week."

"And if it's brilliant," the clone continued, "then Vince can do it himself!"

In the end, the two of them agreed it looked terrible, but the clone was doing its best to pull the look off.

Now the blonde berk was grinning Vince's grin at Howard from the stairs.

"A tea party," Howard said in disbelief.

"Yeah! Imagine that," the clone cried, "a tea party in the middle of the day!"

"It's gonna be _genius!_" Vince insisted,"We're getting dressed up and-"

"Dressed up?" Howard interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"As opposed to what, exactly?"

The clone giggled and Vince rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

The two of them looked like they'd been run over by a Top Shop delivery truck, accoutrements from about twenty kinds of outfits strewn over both of their bodies in clashing, careless mayhem which somehow still looked good on both of them, in a strange and irritating way.

"Howard, you have to come," the clone burst out, "It'll be amazing! We'll have different teas to try, and sweets and cakes, just like a proper tea party."

"Yeah?" Howard asked, glaring at Vince, "What about the shop?"

"Sod the shop!" Vince said, "This is far more important."

"And I suppose we'll just leave the merchandise out, let customers waltz in and take whatever they like, leave when they've had their fill?"

"What customers? We've not had a customer in two weeks."

"Yeah? Well, you know how it is. The second you stop watchin' for them, that's just when they'll strike."

The clone's eyes got bigger than normal. "We'll have it out here! That way, we can keep watch."

Howard scoffed. "Nobody in their right mind would come in if they saw grown men dressed in silly outfits and having tea and crumpets."

"Exactly!" the clone laughed, "Problem solved."

The older man didn't respond.

"Howard," Vince whined, "come to our party. It'll be great. You can wear that tweed tuxedo you keep trying to find an excuse to wear."

"Hey, that tuxedo is my most prized possession. Special occasions only."

"This _is_ a special occasion!"

"Party of the year," the clone chimed in.

"Of the century," Vince concurred.

Howard sighed. "Yeah, well. I'm a busy man. Got serious business to attend to. Pokers in the fire, if you catch my drift."

"Stop talking about your cock, Howard," Vince said, then quickly ducked back behind the staircase and raced up, narrowly avoiding the empty soda can Howard chucked at his face.

The clone, meanwhile, lingered. "The party's at three, by the way," the clone said, teetering awkwardly from heel to heel.

Howard thought about shooting back a zinger of an insult, but somehow, it didn't feel quite right. So instead, the silence hung heavily in the air between them.

The clone's face turned from that dopey hopeful expression to one of disappointment. "Standing invite, then?" it blurted, then disappeared up the stairs.

Howard turned back to his magazine spread, emblazoned with flawless embouchures and shining brass, but he couldn't regain the same thrill from earlier.

The Vinces were still shuffling around in the bedroom upstairs, but he couldn't hear any laughter or conversation. Which meant they were whispering. Which meant they were whispering about Howard.

He wished they would stop pestering him to join in their idiotic games. Wasn't having a copy of himself enough for Vince? Why did he always require Howard's constant approval?

Though, if Howard was being completely honest with himself, the week had not been altogether horrific. Vince had been kept extremely busy, despite not being allowed to leave the shop (strict rules from the shaman himself). It had been fairly wonderful to have a break from Vince's constant babblings.

With a copy of himself, Vince was able to do everything he wanted. The upstairs apartment had veritably exploded with color from their various projects. They'd put on countless skits, with both Vinces playing multiple characters. Bollo was their only faithful audience member, while Naboo and Howard kept up spotty attendance.

They'd produced several culinary inventions, most of which smelled awful. Howard assumed they tasted even worse, though he'd always artfully avoided the opportunity to try, and Bollo's retching in the bathroom was always enough to satiate his curiosity.

And of course, there were the hours and hours of the two of them piecing together new outfits and makeup ideas, trying them out on the other and taking a photo if it turned out well. They'd gone through three rolls of Howard's film already.

All in all, he figured neither Vince had gotten more than a few hours of sleep this whole week. But as the week wore on, both Vinces had been more and more adamant that Howard join them in their festivities. And though he didn't exactly know why, he could not bring himself to do it.

Howard had tried hard not to complain or harrass the two of them. He knew the clone was only going to be there one more day and he thought Vince should be able to enjoy it while it lasted.

Why wasn't that enough, then? Why did the thing have to be Howard's little buddy as well? It was all very annoying.

And Howard realized he was getting very tired of thinking about it. He'd been staring at a collection of sterling silver mouthpieces for several minutes without even seeing them, so he gave up on the magazine. Sighing heavily, Howard lifted himself from the stool and went to the back room to pretend to take stock.

An hour later, the real Vince sauntered into the back room, startling Howard slightly. Howard, however, hid the shock under his impenetrable, stony visage, so there was no possibility that Vince caught on.

"Alright, Howard," the smaller man chirped.

Vince wore the scaffolding for a bizarre outfit, rife with feathers and sequins, as well as basic makeup, but Howard knew it was nowhere near finished. He halfway wondered what the outfit would look like when it was all put together, but not enough to inquire and give Vince the satisfaction of his interest.

"Yup," Howard said, turning back to the shelf stacked with jars and baggies of magical odds and ends.

"What'cha doin' out here? I forgot we even had a back room..." Vince asked as he looked around the dingy, dusty storage room. His voice was soft, softer than usual. Like it was when they worked at the zoo, before his head got filled with so much encouragement, so many compliments. Howard didn't mind the new Vince so much, but he was allowed some measure of nostalgia now and again, he reasoned.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't surprise me, seeing that you've never actually been back here. How are you and your playmate getting on, hm? Having a good time goofing off while I'm out here slavin' away?"

"As if you're doing work," Vince scoffed, "I seen you out here, scratchin' at your ballbag, just starin' at the shelves, goin', 'Ooh, always a bit itchy after you've had a shave, in'nit?"

Howard pursed his lips, put on a faux-guilty look. "Dunno what you're talkin' about."

"Anyway, you ain't even got a clipboard, you berk. How ya gonna do work without a clipboard?"

"Don't need one. This is all I need," Howard said, tapping his head.

"What, your forehead?"

"My forehead? No. My mind. My brain space. My giant... awe-inspiring mind. Like a steel trap, it is. All I need to do is glance at an item and BZZT. I've got it. It's in there forever, baby."

Vince nodded emphatically. "Oh, yeah, okay. So, how many lizard tails are there?"

"Thirty seven," Howard said with exaggerated confidence, "Not counting the newts."

"As if!" Vince said with a hearty laugh, "I saw those lizard tails, no way there was only thirty seven. Looked to be at least fifty two of 'em in there. Sixty five, maybe even!"

"Ah, see, that's the thing about lizard tails, Vince. Always looks like there's more of them. Easy beginner's mistake, don't worry about it."

"Yeah, whatever," Vince responded, rolling his eyes, "Hey, so Howard, I was wondering... Why don't you wanna come to our tea party today?"

"I told you already, I'm busy. Doing my job. The job we're both employed to perform?"

"Yeah, okay, that's fine, but it's obviously not true. So what is it, really?"

Howard did not respond.

Vince sighed. "Only, tomorrow's his last day, and... you haven't hung around him even once. You barely even looked at him this whole week."

"Yeah? Well?" Howard floundered in the silence he created, grasping for something clever to say and failing. "Why's it matter so much? I don't hang out with any of your friends, and you've never complained about that."

Vince snickered. "Yeah, cos you're a right mess around my friends. You're embarrassing, everyone always asks why I brought my dad along. But that's not the point. I couldn't care less whether you come along, personally. Doesn't matter to me," he muttered, fluffing his hair a bit. Then, scuffing his boot across the floor like a kid asking a favor, he continued, "It's just... Vince Two is a bit bothered by it, is all."

"Don't call it Vince Two. It's weird."

"Vince Two says you're ignoring him and lookin' at him weird. I've noticed it, too. What's the deal with that? He's nothin' special, he's just me, only with blonde hair."

"It's not though, is it? It's a clone of you. It's not the same."

"Clone means exact copy, you berk. That means we're exactly the same in every way! Do a crimp with him, if you'd like. Prove it to yourself."

"Do a crimp with it. Are you mental? Crimps are _our_ thing. Me and you. Not me and that... thing."

"He's not a thing, he's me! Stop talkin' about him like he's some deformed creature!" Vince's voice was taking on a disturbingly high pitch, which was a clear sign that Vince was about to have a meltdown. The realization put Howard in check and he decided to peel back a bit.

"Look," he said, putting a hand on Vince's shoulder, "It-" and at Vince's sharp look, he corrected himself, "_He_ is your present. You should enjoy it while it lasts. Anyway, why's it matter so much that I hang out with him?"

Vince gave a look whose meaning Howard could not decipher, but one which made his stomach knot up nonetheless. But it didn't last longer than a second before being covered up with pointed disinterest.

"Like I said, makes no difference to me. It's Vince Two, he's just gone on and on about it. It's gettin' old, that's all. Plus, tea parties've got to have more than two people, otherwise it's a date."

"Yeah, you dating a clone of yourself, talk about stretching the bounds of the imagination."

Vince smirked and smoothed his bangs self-consciously.

"Anyway," Howard continued, "What about Bollo? Where's he at?"

"He's picked up a pretty nasty bout of food poisoning, he thinks. Dunno what he ate, but from the sound of it, he won't be havin' it again for a while." He laughed a little.

"And Naboo?"

"Naboo's out on business for the day, you know that."

"Yeah, right... Hm. Well, I'm not coming, that's final."

"Howard, come on! Don't be ridiculous."

"Absolutely not."

"Please? It'll mean a lot to me."

Howard flicked his eyes up at Vince, who was looking at him without any trace of guardedness. "Thought you didn't care," he muttered.

Vince smiled bashfully, shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

The older man hesitated, then said, "I won't dress up, though."

Vince's face practically glowed sunshine. "Aw, brilliant! You'll come? Brilliant, thanks, Howard! We'll be ready in about two hours, yeah? Sure you'll be there?"

"Yes!" Howard hissed, waving his hand, "Now let me be, will you?"

"Genius," Vince exclaimed, then began to bounce toward the door.

Suddenly, he stopped and spun on his glittery heel. "Oh, hey, Howard, would you mind putting the kettle on in about two hours?" He flitted out of the room giggling before Howard could protest.


End file.
